


Our Bodies Became Arsonists to Will

by eudaimon



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: F/M, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donna's a creature of habit.  And nobody knows Harvey Specter better.</p><p>After a difficult conversation with Jessica, Harvey doesn't really have anywhere else to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Bodies Became Arsonists to Will

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Electrumqueen's comment-ficathon [here](http://electrumqueen.livejournal.com/355527.html#comments). Takes place immediately post episode 2x02 and, as such, has mild spoilers for current canon. My first attempt writing these characters and, God, I enjoyed it.

_if this goes wrong again  
will you pretend that you know  
steady as the morning  
and just go_

Donna Paulsen is a creature of habit. When she gets home, she takes her clothes off pretty much immediately. She brushes the product out of her hair. She puts on sweats and a tank-top. She feeds the cat. Since the advent of TIVO, she watches more T.V than she ever did before. She's a pretty good cook, when she has the opportunity. 

She doesn't always have the opportunity.

In place of dinner, she pours wine and takes Excedrin. The cat winds his way around her ankles. The T.V's on in the bedroom. There are take-out menus in the drawer. Today's been long and strange and it's already late. She's thinking that today might be an okay day to cave and just get Chinese food. Sesame Chicken would feel really, _really_ good right now. The phone is in her hand and then someone knocks the door. It's late and Donna's got her friends _well trained_ \- she works long hours and she needs time to decompress. She does not socialise during the week. Ever. No exceptions. She's made this very clear. And if they're knocking that means they already got past the front door. And she's in her _pajamas_ , for God's sake.

"Somebody had better be dead," she says as she yanks open the door.

And there he is. He's in his suit, fresh from the office, but he's loosened the knot of his tie and that, in and of itself, speaks volumes. She can count the times that she's seen him rumpled on the fingers of one hand. He leans one shoulder against the doorframe, looking down, and his ties loosened and he's clearly had his fingers in his hair. It's not the first time that she's seen him like this in nearly fifteen years, but it is enough to make her feel shaken. Because Harvey Specter doesn't look rumpled, ever. He rolls with punches so well that it's infuriating.

But here they are.

"Nobody's dead, Donna," he says. "I promise."

Her heart's pounding in her chest and she gets this taste of bile at the back of her throat because, just for a moment, he actually terrified her. 

Still, she lets him in. Of course she does.  
She's been letting him in for years, one way or another.

*

They do not sit on the couch. Donna finishes calling for Chinese, ordering for both of them without stopping to ask him what he wants and he takes off his jacket and his tie, drapes them carefully over a ladder back chair and then he leans against the counter. She carefully ignores the way that he's looking at her. She fetches them both a beer instead.

"Are you going to tell me about it?"  
He pauses with the bottle halfway to his mouth, tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shakes his head. It's happened a handful of times in the years that they've known each other; something's happened, something big and he's needed nothing from her so much as to _be there_. She figured it out a long, long time ago - times like these, Harvey doesn't actually have anywhere to go. She takes a long swallow from her beer and then puts it down, reaching out to touch his arm. She squeezes his bicep lightly.

"Tell me what you need, Harvey," she says, gently.

What Donna knows about him is this - that he is also a creature of habit. He always goes to the same guy for his suits. He's been drinking his coffee the same way since he was a teenager. He always runs the same root in Central Park, uses the same barber. He's been wearing the same aftershave since he worked for Cameron Dennis. Every so often, she'll bring him something in his office or he'll walk past her desk He turns towards her, just slightly and his arm slips around her, beer still in his hand, so it's casual and it doesn't mean so much when he tugs in her in, closer, and she goes, barefoot and in her pajamas. She finds herself staring at the naked hollow of his throat. She cradles the side of his face with one hand, ignoring the fine trembling in her fingers. Her shirt has ridden up and she can feel the heat of the side of his hand against the small of her back.

"What are we doing here, Harvey?" she says, gently, her thumb just grazing the corner of his mouth.  
"I need you, Donna," he says, quietly, gaze unwavering, and he needed her earlier, needs her every day, but not like this. Not like this for a very long time. "Just here. Right here. Please."

She told Mike that the feelings go away eventually. She wasn't lying. Not exactly, anyway.  
She nods, fingers of her free hand tracing under his collar.

"I'm not Dana Scott, Harvey," she says, gently, very aware of the press of his body against hers. "And you aren't thirty anymore and we can't do this. We agreed that we couldn't do this. We _agreed_ that it was better all around if we didn't do this and we're stronger because of it and..."

The kiss, when it comes, isn't hard, isn't breathless. It's barely a brush of lips but Donna _feels_ it, in her chest and her temples and, yes, between her legs. Harvey's solid, pressed against her, and he's always run warm so she can feel the heat pouring off him and she loses track of the way that they're both trembling. She knows that she ought to be the one to stop it, but he smells so good and she's so close. This time, it's her kissing him, harder, nudging until he opens his mouth. His free hand's under her shirt, pushing up over her spine. The beer bottle's still there in the small of her back. She knows why he's here - nobody knows him better than her and, maybe, right now, he needs to be just plain Harvey, nothing to do with his own legend.

"Come on," she says. "I'm not doing this here."

She can let him have that, for tonight. She can give him that.  
He turns and puts the bottle down on the counter.


End file.
